


Cracks

by ObjectPermanence



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectPermanence/pseuds/ObjectPermanence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Enjolras has a bit of a problem finding friends, and staying out of trouble. Grantaire and Eponine grow up surrounded by domestic violence and abuse. Combeferre struggles with the loss of his father. Courfeyrac has ADHD and that makes him different. Joly has to take care of his depressive mother, staying by the side of her bed, holding her hand. He asks her why she’s sad and she says she doesn’t know, but how is that possible? Cosette is being passed on from foster home to foster home, never finding a family, never finding love. And Bahorel is simply born at the wrong side of town and he has to rely on his fist to make things better. But at least, they have each other. It makes it all better, all worthwile, and they know that it will stay this way forever. It does."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this-  
> http://minimangafan.tumblr.com/post/46178094336/les-amis-the-formative-years-enjolras-is
> 
> Argh, this took much longer than it should have! But here it is, it's set in their Freshman year of High School. Trigger warning, there is rape in this fic, so beware! I swear it gets better and less terrible from here...sort of.

Enjolras ran his fingers over the patterned fabric of the chair outside of the counselor's office. "James?" He raised his head, and walked inside, passing a dark haired boy with a black eye who was exiting the room. He sat down in his usual seat, facing the desk. "This is the third time this month this has happened." M.Valjean folded his hands, looking at him with a concerned gaze. "I thought we agreed you would stop speaking out in class."

He shifted in his seat, looking at the floor. "But the teacher was wrong."

"James, you're very smart. But you have an attitude, and if you want to succeed you need to respect your superiors." The counselor sighed, tapping a folder marked with his name on the desk. "You've got quite the record, and if you want to go to college one day you need to get your act together."

Enjolras folded his hands, tapping his foot nervously, "I know. It's just-"

Valjean held his hand up, silencing the blonde boy, "I've enrolled you in a class for problem students. I had no choice, Javert wanted to have you expelled. So instead you're in my History class." Enjolras tried to protest but the counselor continued to speak. "You start tomorrow, second period, room 246. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Fine." He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, striding swiftly out of the door. As he walked back to class he saw the dark haired boy from earlier talking to a girl with a split lip.

"What did Valjean want, Bahorel?" She asked, touching his bicep lightly, concern flashed across her face. She had wide brown eyes, olive skin and dark hair that fell in waves around her face.

The boy shrugged his shoulders; "He's switching me into his History class. At least we have a class together now." He had short dark hair and matching olive skin, but bright green eyes that glinted behind his bangs.

"R will be happy to hear that. His Dad's been a real dick recently." She shoved her hands into her pockets, and glanced at the clock before returning her attention to Bahorel.

"Yeah, I saw his shoulder. Shame really, his old man's really bad sometimes."

The girl snorted, "Sometimes? How about every night? Ever wonder why he's not at school? It's because he can't walk!" She gestured angrily around and crossed her arms over her chest as the bell rang. "See you later Bahorel."

He nodded and punched her arm lightly, "See ya Ep." The boy turned towards Enjolras and strode past him, and went into the science wing.

The blonde shuffled off to Math class, which was taught by M.Champmathieu. "Hey Ferre." He sat down next to one of his few friends, a bookworm with large glasses who didn't talk a lot. He responded with a grunt, more focused on his book. "So, I got transferred out of Javert's class."

"Really?" He responded without looking up, only readjusting his glasses to sit higher up on his nose. "Shame. I'll miss you." Enjolras nodded, pulling out his textbook and homework. "Did you yell at Javert again? I thought you agreed not to do that anymore."

The blonde sighed in exasperation, "I'm sorry, but the June Rebellion happened in 1832 not 1834!"

"Just because the textbook is wrong, doesn’t mean you have to correct it." The other boy shook his head as the old teacher rose from his desk.

"Please turn in page 460, problems 1 through 20." A collective groan escaped the class; usually he didn't remember to collect homework. Enjolras and Combeferre dutifully submitted their homework and didn't speak for the rest of the day.

-ooo- 

Enjolras flopped down at his desk once he got off the bus. Sighing he logged into his E-mail, ignoring all of the spam mail about erectile-dysfunction medication, he clicked around for a bit, eventually finding the message confirming his schedule change into M.Valjean's History class. Attached was a class roster. He downloaded it quickly, hoping he would recognize some of his new classmates.

He knew it was useless, only having three friends didn't increase his odds of knowing anybody in the class. Combeferre was a bookworm, who didn't have much time for social interaction outside ordering food and new books. Joly was a skinny hypochondriac whose mother was a manic-depressive. He constantly worried about her health, and often did poorly in his classes because he would sit up at night with her while she cried for no reason. And Courfeyrac was an overly excited and happy young boy who had been diagnosed with ADHD when he'd started Middle School, three years earlier. Most people treated him differently because of it, and on the outside it didn't seem to bother him, but on the inside he always worried about being accepted, a fear he'd confided in Enjolras over the summer during a sleep over.

The odds of any of them being in the class was very slim, but sure enough both Joly's and Coufeyrac's names were on the list among others he didn't recognize. Eponine Thenardier, Michael Bahorel, Nicholas Grantaire, and Cosette Fauchelevent. Enjolras gave up on reading the list, he didn't know anyone else. He sighed, running his fingers into his hair.

It wasn't his fault that he sucked at making friends, or that he couldn't help but correct the teacher when they were wrong. When he'd started High School that year he'd promised himself that this year would be different than Middle School, but that didn't look like that was going to happen. For the last three years he'd had the same three friends, and constantly gotten trouble for his 'attitude'. Not much had really changed.

'James! Dinner is ready!" His mother called from down stairs. Spinning around in his chair, he rose and called back.

"Be there in a second Mom!" He closed his E-mail and wandered down stairs, worrying about how his parents would take the news of his class switch.

-ooo-

"Eponine?" Valjean called out roll as Enjolras dropped into his seat, setting his backpack on the floor.

"Here." The girl from the day before was seated directly to his right.

"Michael?" He checked a box on his clipboard.

"Here." The boy apparently named Bahorel was sitting in the seat to his left.

"James."

"Here." He answered softly, raising his hand as the small class looked at him.

"Francis?" 

"Here." Courfeyrac responded from his seat next to Joly at the back of the class.

"Daniel?" 

Joly raised his hand and replied swiftly, "Here."

"Nicholas?" There was no answer, Valjean frowned slightly before continuing, "Cosette?"

"Here." A blonde near the front raised her hand a moment later, fiddling with a lock of hair with the other.

"Okay, so it's just Nick we're missing?"

"I'm here." A boy, no taller than 5'9", with a mop of dark curls leaned against the doorframe. Dark circles framed his blue eyes, and his pale skin stood out against his plain black t-shirt.

"You're late, again." Valjean marked his sheet again, before setting it down and crossing his arms.

"Sorry." The boy muttered while sitting into the seat in front of Enjolras. He leaned forward to retrieve his book, his shirt moving slightly down, revealing angry red marks at the top of his spine. They were raised and stood out against his pale skin. And just as quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared back under the black shirt.

"Okay, so the June Rebellion of 1832. Does anyone know about it?" Valjean leaned back against his desk, looking at the class of about 12 students from behind his glasses.

Enola’s hand shot up and he blurted out, "It was a failed student revolution that lasted from June 5 to 7 in 1832." All eyes fell on him, and he clamped his jaw shut, immediately regretting his outburst. Shit, I'm never going to live that down. He thought angrily, that was how he was going to be remembered, as the know it all.

"Yes, Enjolras is correct." Valjean pushed up his glasses, and looked down at his book, turning a few pages.

The dark haired boy in front of him turned around to face Enjolras, "Nice one Apollo." He smirked with shining eyes before returning to facing the front of the room.

"Thanks." Enjolras managed, spotting the marks on the boy's neck again. The conversation he'd overheard yesterday surfaced in his brain. His Dad's been a real dick recently. Yeah, I saw his shoulder. Shame really, his old man's really bad sometimes. Sometimes? How about every night? Ever wonder why he's not at school? It's because he can't walk! He stared at Nick's neck for a while, wondering if it was his father who had made the marks.

"Alright, Chapter 7 read by tomorrow." Valjean informed the class as the bell rang, interrupting Enjolras's train of thought. He'd been staring for much longer than he realized. Jumping up quickly, he stuffed his books into his backpack, preparing to leave for Math.

"So, what's going on?" He recognized the girl, Eponine's voice, behind him.

"The usual." Grantaire responded non-chalantly.

He heard heave footsteps as Bahorel walked over, "Did it happen again?" He noticed Grantaire nod slightly, "God, he's such a bastard!"

"You have to do something R." Eponine said soothingly, placing her hand on the boy's arm. "You need to get help."

He shrugged he off, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "Eponine I appreciate the concern. But I've been dealing with this since I was 14. I'm 16, it's been 2 years, I know how to cope. Besides, I have Vicodin, and whiskey." He laughed, turning to leave.

Enjolras watched them leave, and the way that Grantaire walked didn't escape his notice. Hi didn't put allot of weight on his left leg, and he hobbled a big, wincing every now and then. Something was clearly wrong with him.

-ooo-

Grantaire followed Eponine into Gym class. "You really need to tell someone. Get help."

"And end up like Cosette? Bouncing around in foster homes? No thanks." He shook his head, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Seriously, I'm used to it."

"Well, no one should be used to that, R." She patted his arm before walking into the girl’s locker room with some of her friends.

He slowly hobbled into the boy’s locker room, ignoring the pain in his leg as he changed into his uniform. Bruises covered his torso, as well as cuts and scratches. "Fuck." He muttered, realizing that la large purple and green bruise stuck out from underneath his left sleeve. Shaking his head he wandered out into the main gym to meet up with Eponine.

"That's new." She pointed to the mark as soon as he emerged. He stuck his tongue out at her for a moment. "Can you even run?" She sounded concerned like she always did when they talked about this.

"I'm fine! Can we please not talk about it anymore? I can deal just as well as anyone else can!" He crossed his arms, staring at her with a firm gaze.

She shook her head, "We're just worried about you."

"Don't be, god knows I'm not." He deadpanned, walking towards the rest of his class, leaving the girl behind with Montparnasse’s and his friends.

Grantaire gritted his teeth, and joined the class in the warm up jog around the track. Pain radiated through his entire body, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out and collapsing on the spot. His dad would be pissed if he showed any sign of weakness, and would probably earn himself more bruises if he gave in to the pain.

"Grantaire! Keep up!" The coach yelled at him angrily. Willing the pain away, he completed the last lap and allowed himself to stretch a bit.  It wasn't like his Dad was completely responsible for the bruises and scars that covered his body. Not completely.

-ooo-

"So, how was math?" Eponine asked as they walked home down Pine Street. She gripped her backpack with one hand, and her textbook in the other.

He shrugged, both hands in his pockets. "The usual. Way too easy, but way too much homework." She nodded in silent agreement. 

"It's like, why even bother?"

"Exactly. I've got other stuff to do." They passed a number of passed out men in pools of vomit, a drug dealer or two, and at least four hookers on their way to Grantaire's apartment. Casually avoiding the man sprawled across the sidewalk in front of the apartment he shared with his father, they slipped inside. "Meet you upstairs." He gestured towards his room, as he headed for the fridge.

Eponine wandered up the stairs to the loft where Grantaire lived. "You really ought to clean up here before something dies and starts to smell." She muttered, flopping down on the bed. The ceiling was dark blue with stars painted on it, giving the illusion of the night sky. The rest of the room was a forest green, and the floor was covered in clothes, art supplies, and books.

"I think it's a bit late for that." He laughed, sitting in his desk chair, and tossing a beer to Eponine.

"Thanks." She said, quickly opening it and taking a drink. Leaning back her head hit something. "Ow, what the fuck?" 

Grantaire jumped up quickly, abandoning his beer, and grabbed the small cardboard box she had hit. "Shit sorry." He mumbled, shoving it under a pile of clothes.

Eponine sat up and fixed him with a hard stare. "Grantaire, is that-"

"Yea, it is, okay." He cut her off, rubbing his arm nervously. "Can we please not talk about that. Not now. I've got like four more hours."

She shook her head and raised her hands in surrender. "Okay R. We don't have to talk about it." He gave her an appreciative nod before downing the rest of his beer. "But really, we worry about you, Bahorel and me. You mean a lot to us." 

"Thanks Ep." He muttered softly, doodling something on the wood of the desk. The girl sat up, and wandered over to look at the drawing that had formed in a few seconds. It was a face, strong cheekbones, determined eyes, and soft flowing hair. When he realized she'd been watching he shifted a few papers to cover the image.

A smile spread across her face, "Is that the new kid in Valjean's class?"

"So what if it is?" He retorted, the slightest hint of venom in his tone.

Eponine ruffled his hair, and placed a friendly kiss on his cheek, "Then it means not all hope is lost. It means you can still feel." She climbed back down the stairs just as Grantaire's father stumbled through the front door.

"NICK!" He screamed as Eponine shut the door. "Get your ass down her this fucking minute!" Shuddering, he rose from his desk and went downstairs. "Why the fuck are you still here? It's four thirty!"

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, shoving his hand back into his pockets. "It won't happen again."

The man staggered, and ran a hand through his graying hair, "It better fucking not! We have rent to make, and if you want to live here you've got to make your share!" He reached out and slapped Grantaire across the face, leaving an angry red mark on his cheek.

"I'm sorry." He said, slightly louder, ignoring the stabs of pain. "I'm sorry!" He raced outside, slamming the door behind him.

His father's words could still be hears on the street as he rushed away. "Get out you little whore! And don't come back without the money!"

-ooo-

Grantaire leaned against a brick wall as night began to fall on the city. It was cold out, and he was glad he had a coat to keep him warm, unlike so many others in his situation. He checked his watch, 11:45. The bars would start kicking people out soon, then he could make money.

After his dad had yelled at him he wandered through the streets for a while, got dinner from a taco truck, sat in the park, and eventually found himself at his usual hangout, outside the bars. A few other young men and women were doing a similar thing, loitering outside, waiting for business. It wasn't his choice to be there, but he didn't want to spend a night out in the open, and they needed rent money.

A man, not much older than Grantaire, pulled up in a black mustang. "How much?"

"250." Grantaire muttered, feeling a pit form in his stomach. He hated these people, hated them with a burning fire.

"Alright." The man nodded to the passenger seat. He slowly climbed in, keeping his hands in his pockets, as they sped down the street. "So, what does 250 get me?"

Grantaire paused, swallowing the sour taste in his mouth. "Anything." They drove down towards the end of town filled with cheap motels, an are he was all too familiar with. The man had flaming red hair, and lots of freckles. "But, I don't do bareback." The man nodded slowly, a pair of sunglasses hid his eyes from view. He parked the car at a motel Grantaire frequented, all of the people who worked there knew and ignored him. After all, he was only 16, why should anyone try to stop him?

"Get in." The man said gruffly, opening the door to the room. Grantaire ducked his head, and went inside. Just as he was straightening up he head the door click shut, and hands pushed him roughly onto the bed. "Clothes off." He obliged, and began to remove his shirt as the man pressed him further into the mattress. "Fuck."

Grantaire tried to ignore the fear inside of his stomach as he removed his shirt. The ginger started to fumble with his belt, before ripping Grantaire's pants off completely, leaving him naked on the hotel bed. "Turn over." He grunted, removing his belt. The dark haired boy obeyed, rolling over so he was face down on the bed. "Whore." The man muttered as he raised the belt above his head, "Bet you love this." He brought the belt down hard, snapping it against Grantaire's already scarred back. He shrieked in pain, pressing himself further into the mattress. "You get off to this, can't you?" The belt fell again, raising welts on his back. "I know you are!" The belt hitting his flesh accented each phrase. Blood has beginning to fall, and tears threatened to fall from his eyes. "You fucking love this!"

Grantaire nodded into the sheets, despite the fact that he wasn't getting off to this. He never got aroused by assault, people assumed he did because of the scars the covered his back, the result of an abusive father. Telling them he was turned on made them finish quicker, and sparred him from adding to the marks on his skin. "You're disgusting!" The man shouted, and Grantaire could hear his zipper being pulled down, and the crinkling of a condom package.

No! Please no! His brain was screaming as something warm and hard was pressed against his thigh. A hand landed firmly on his ass, leaving a stinging sensation. "I want to hear you scream" The man growled as he roughly entered the smaller boy. Grantaire cried out in pain as he was stretched unexpectedly, fisting his hands into the sheets. "You know you love it!" The man set a harsh rhythm, not allowing Grantaire to adjust, only drilling into him mercilessly. "You dirty whore, answer me!"

All he could do was bite his lip and nod furiously into the mattress. "Please!" He cried out, willing the man to finish and be done. "Please!" The man continued to impale the boy on his cock, showing no signs of slowing. Strangled sobs escaped him as his prostate was struck over and over again. Grantaire writhed wildly as the man tensed, and spilled inside of him. A shudder passed through the man as he pulled out, leaving the boy feeling empty and terrible. 

The man straightened up, and replaced his pants. "You're just a filthy whore. Get out." He rose from the bed, and replaced his clothes, ignoring the blood that was soaking through his shirt. "Here's you money." He accepted the wad of cash, and shoved it into his pocket. "Get out."

Grantaire crossed the room, and left, heading towards home. As he walked, passing others whores on the street, he felt tears pricking at his eyes. "How much?" Another man yelled at him, grabbing his shoulder.

"Not for sale." He responded, rushing briskly away, clutching the money in his pocket with guilt.

The man yelled back angrily, "Everyone's for sale, if the price is right!"

-ooo-

"Where the fuck have you been?" Grantaire's father asked from the couch as he closed the door behind him. Grimacing, he dropped the cash into his lap. His father paused a moment to count the bills. "Not bad. You're a much better at being a whore than anything else."

Pained welled up inside of him, threatening to burst at the words. Grantaire's hands clenched into fists, and he raced up to his room. Once inside he slammed the door and buried his face in the Spiderman pillow he'd had since he was a kid. Tears fell freely from his eyes, and he sobbed openly.

His body was covered in bruises to remind him he was a worthless whore, nothing more. No matter how much people insisted they cared, he would never amount to anything but a quick fuck. The pillow was quickly soaked in his tears, and he was forced to go to sleep. Removing his blood soaked shirt was no east task. The blood had dried, forming a brittle glue that held the shirt to his back, and sent pain shooting through him whenever he tried to take it off.

Eventually he had stripped to his boxers, and he dove into bed. It was warm and comforting, reminding the cynic of his mother's embrace. When she had died three years ago, he and his father had struggled to make rent each month. But on his 4th birthday he'd received only a large box of condoms, and was cast out onto the street every night since. Most nights there was no one, and he would either return to face his drunken father, or sleep at Eponine's. Once he'd had to sleep on the street, but woke up covered in an unknown person's cum.

Shaking in the blankets he tried to sleep, but could only focus of the pain in his ass from being violated. As far as he was concerned, it was rape. Grantaire eventually fell asleep, his dreams filled with images of his dead mother crying because he was a whore.

-ooo-

When Grantaire woke, he could barley walk. It wasn't uncommon for him to miss a day of school because the pain was too much, but he gritted his teeth and left for school with Eponine like usual. "You're limping." She noted as they turned off of Pine Street.

"Yes I am, it's sort of a job hazard." He chuckled humorlessly, trying to ignore the pain and failing miserably.

She dug around in her bad for a minute, before producing a pill bottle, "Here, this will help."

He accepted and downed a few with a gulp of vodka from his water bottle. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She responded as the school came into view. Eponine was silent for the rest of the walk to class. 

Nobody seemed to notice anything unusual, until English. Grantaire couldn't ignore the concerned stare coming from the blonde boy who sat behind him as he limped into the room. Sitting gingerly, he pulled his book out and got a pencil. Who ever this kid with beautiful golden hair was, he knew something was wrong with Grantaire. And that scared the dark haired boy, but at the same time, oddly, thrilled him. There was something extremely attractive about him, besides the face that he looked like a Greek statue, thus the nickname Apollo. There was something about that boy, that made Grantaire nervous, and his stomach flip.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras watched as Grantaire limped into his seat in front of him, slinging his bag over the chair just as Valjean began to take attendance. A new bruise had blossomed on the left side of his neck, sticking out from underneath his blue sweatshirt. Eponine sat down in the seat to the right of Grantaire, a worried look on her face.

"Eponine?"

"Here."

"James."

"Here."

"Nick?"

Grantaire gave a grunt in response, rubbing his lower back while shifting in the chair. He winced slightly, before settling into the seat, and chewing on the end of his pencil.

"Alright, today you have a quiz over Chapter 5. There are no notes." Valjean said simply, beginning to hand out the tests while the class groaned in annoyance. "Hey, do you want to take two quizzes? I don't think so."

Grantaire passed the stack of papers over his head to Enjolras who took the top sheet and passed the stack to Courfeyrac before writing his name on the top of the quiz. It was short, only about 10 questions, which he easily answered in a few minutes.  _Where did Marat die? How did Voltaire die?_ When did the reign of terror end? He sighed, checking over his answers as Grantaire stood, and put his test in the box. 

Enjolras watched him, a grin on the boy's face as he sat back down in the chair. The dark haired boy flashed white teeth at Eponine, who gave him a sarcastic thumbs up before returning to her paper and scribbling furiously.

Enjolras stood up and walked past the other desks to reach the box for the quizzes. Just as he was about to turn his in, the paper resting onto caught his eye. It was covered in pencil drawings of boats, planets, people, and abstract lines. In the center, just below the question about Marat was a face. It's eyes were looking up, chin tilted with hair cascading around the cheeks. It was captioned with a single word,  _Apollo_.

-ooo-

Grantaire was rather proud with himself as he, Bahorel, and Eponine stride out of Valjean's class. The meds Eponine had given him earlier were kicking in, and the pain of being violated so viciously the night before, was subsiding. "You didn't actually do it, did you?" Bahorel asked with a shocked voice, his eyebrows threatening to disappear under his bangs.

"Indeed I did! No answers, just drawings!" The larger boy slapped him on the shoulder, laughing loudly as he wandered off to his other class.

Grantaire and Eponine walked towards the gym, talking about the quiz. "I'm sure I failed, way to many guesses." She rubbed her forehead lightly, "Not like you have any chance of passing either!" The dark haired girl chuckled, opening the door to the locker rooms. "God, sometimes you seen so free. Like none of this bothers you." She gestured around in the air randomly.

Grantaire shook his head, his dark curls bouncing slightly, "Trust me, it does bother me." He paused before laying a hand lightly on her shoulder, "So, are we still on for the pond tomorrow? As long as I get work tonight I can go."

Eponine gave him a sad smile, "Yeah, sure. Bahorel and I miss you there, it's not the same without you." She gave him a reassuring pat on his arm before walking towards the girl's locker room.

Grantaire walked into the locker room, changing quickly to avoid any of the stares that usually came from the other boys when they saw his scarred torso. Pulling his shoes on he went out to the main gym silently, trying to ignore the odd look his teacher was giving him. "Grantaire!"

"Yes sir?" He walked over to the teacher, he'd never bothered learning his name. The man was short with gray hair and dark brown eyes.

He gave Grantaire a sweep with his eyes, before settling on the large purple bruise on his neck, "What happened here?"

"Nothing. I fell. It was an accident." He shrugged, remembering the feeling of the belt on his back and the man's hands forcing him onto the bed. It was not an accident.

The man nodded, "Alright. It just looks like you got raped or something." The cynic stiffened at the word, it was rape in his mind. "I'm just kidding! Gosh, take a joke." The old man laughed, slapping the boy on the back before blowing his whistle to call the rest of the class over.

"Just kidding." Grantaire mumbled, touching the bruise lightly with his fingertips. "Just a joke."

-ooo-

Grantaire flopped down on his bed, staring at his ceiling. The box of condoms Eponine had found the day before were sitting next to the bed on his nightstand. He hated them, the idea that they kept him safe, when in reality he was still being impaled by a stranger's cock. He was not safe. He hadn't been safe since his mother had died so long ago. Grantaire barley remembered her, only having a few memories of her laughing while on a beach or at the pond.

The pond. He remembered that if he got work tonight he would be able to go. He had a deal with his dad, if he worked for five days straight he got the weekend off. One more day and he'd get a break. For as long as he could remember whenever he got the weekend he, Eponine, and Bahorel would go to the local pond and spend the entire day pretending that Bahorel didn't get in fights constantly, Eponine's parents didn't yell at each other and her, and Grantaire wasn't a worthless whore. For a weekend they were normal teenagers.

Standing up he glanced at the clock, 9:00pm. Grantaire stuffed a condom into his back pocket before trudging down stairs, retrieving an apple from the fridge, and heading towards the bars. His ass had only just stopped hurting and now, if the evening went as planned, he would have a strangers dick inside of him within the next few hours. 

A long time ago Grantaire had decided to detach himself. Usually when someone was thrusting into him he would imagine he was somewhere else, not pressed into a mattress of a cheap hotel, or the backseat of a car. The first time it had happened he'd sobbed and screamed as he was breached. The man didn't even pay him the full price, leaving him alone next to the movie theater feeling dirty and violated.

He shook his head, pushing the memory away as he approached his usual spot. It was almost 9:45 now, and cars were driving past slowly, the drivers eying the whores like pieces of meat. Grantaire shuddered as an old Volvo stopped infront of him, "How much?"

"250." He said automatically, his stomach clenching as he was beckoned towards the car. Grantaire climbed inside, trying to think about how much fun he was going to have at the pond, and not about the man who was pawing at his growing erection while driving towards the motels.

-ooo-

Saturday at around 1:30 Enjolras's phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up before answering, "Hello?"

"Hey Enjolras, I was wondering do you want to come to the pond with Combeferre, Joly and me in an hour?" Courfeyrac asked excitedly thought the cell phone. "We could go swimming and hang out and stuff! It would be awesome!"

"I guess so Couf." Enjolras leaned back in his chair, running fingers through his hair. "I'll have to ride my bike."

Courfeyrac responded immediately, "Why can't you drive?"

"Because my parents freaked about me being put in Valjean's class, and they took away the truck." He sighed, still angry with his parents. It wasn't like he'd asked to be put in that class, and he certainly wasn't enjoying it. "I'll be there in like 20 minutes."

"Cool beans!" The line clicked dead a moment later. Enjolras stood up and threw on a pair of shoes before going out to the garage where his bike was parked next to his red truck. He opened the door, walking the blue bike outside before hopping on and pedaling down the street.

The park was about three miles away from his house, through the bad part of town. It was a huge park with a trail that went all the way around a large man-made pond. The pond was actually divided into two slightly smaller bodies of water by a small strip of land in the middle. One side had picnic areas and a volleyball court, the other was filled with grass and was frequented by High Schoolers and College Students because the far bank had some trees that roped had been attached to, allowing one to swing out over the water and jump in. The trail around the ponds traveled through a densely populated forest, filled with deer, owls, and beavers. Enjolras often spent his summers wandering along the trails, becoming lost in the forest for hours at a time. Sometimes Combeferre came with him, reading in the quiet of the trees, only the occasional chirping of birds filling the air. He liked the pond because it made him feel free, it gave him escape from his normal life of social awkwardness and overly demanding parents.

About 20 minutes later Enjolras was riding underneath the highway overpass that led to the pond, and over the hill. "Enj!" Courfeyrac called, his hands cupped around his mouth. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts and sunglasses. Combeferre was already in the water, trying to convince Joly to join him, and splashing him when the hypochondriac brought up the diseases that could be living the the pond.

"Hey Couf." Enjolras jumped off the bike and nodded towards the other two, "So, what are we doing? Trail? Ropes? Swimming?"

The other boy shrugged, "Whatever you want. There are already some people at the ropes, so it looks like the trial or swimming. And Joly's being a pussy about the water, as usual." He rolled his eyes as Joly snorted in annoyance.

"When you have parasites swimming up your urethral opening don't come crying to me." He folded his arms and sat cross-legged on the grass, sticking his tongue out at Combeferre, and plucking a few blades absent-mindedly. "I hear it's really painful."

"I'm sure it is." Enjolras laughed as he wandered towards the edge of the water. Glancing up he noticed a young girl with long brown hair swinging in the air as she jumped off of a rope and into the water.

He recognized the girl as Eponine from Valjean's English class. He spotted Bahorel laughing with Grantaire a few paces from the water's edge. Bahorel's shorter, straight dark hair was plastered to his forehead with water, and was wearing only his swim trunks. Grantaire, on the other hand, looked slightly out of place, dressed in cargo shorts and a white t-shirt, his hair oddly dry. Eponine resurfaced a moment later, spitting a bit of water at the boys, who jumped away from her instantly. "The fuck Ep?!" He heard Bahorel shout as she splashed violently, partially soaking their legs.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were too busy trying to coax Joly into the pond to notice Enjolras wander off in the direction of the other three. He stayed behind trees and bushes to avoid being seen as he approached the laughing trio. Bahorel was tossing rather large rocks into the water near Eponine, and Grantaire was shaking his head but laughing at his friends antics as Eponine tried to splash even more water onto their already drenched legs.

Enjolras watched in curiosity from his vantage point, behind a fallen tree where he could see the beach and into the forest quite well, as Eponine hoisted herself out of the water just enough to grab Bahorel's leg and tug him into the water. He made a startled noise and grabbed Grantaire's shirt, pulling them both into the pond. Grantaire let out a yelp as he plunged into the cold water, his dark curls plastered to his forehead as he bobbed above the water. "Fuck you!" He angrily slapped Bahorel upside the head before erupting in laughter when Bahorel turned around, sporting a moustache made of kelp. Eponine clutched her sides, and Enjolras had to suppress a laugh when Grantaire jumped onto Bahorel's shoulders like a child, forcing him under the water. He watched as the three laughed and splashed each other, seemingly without a care in the world.

"Shit." Grantaire said abruptly, looking down at the white shirt that clung to his body, almost completely see-through, displaying his entire torso. Panic flashed across his face before he glared at Bahorel and Eponine. "What the fuck? You knew this would happen! Goddamn it, Bahorel!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up and storming out of the water, and into the forest.

He stomped past Enjolras's tree, muttering to himself as he yanked his shirt over his head. "Fuck. Just fuck." He said angrily, balling the soaked fabric up and tossing it into the bushes. As he stayed completely silent, crouched behind the tree, Enjolras watched the boy closely as he picked his way through the trees.

Eventually Enjolras got a better view of him, no longer obstructed by branches, although he was about 50 feet away. His eyes widened in shock when he spotted them, the long angry red scars along Grantaire’s back. He shuddered, unable to look away from the grotesque mixture of old and newly forming scars that crisscrossed his back. They appeared to stretch from the base of his neck and dip lower than his pants. Some were extremely long, and others seemed to be deliberate marks that formed a pattern. There was no way that these were self-inflicted, they were too scattered and violent to have been caused by his own hand.

Gasping, Enjolras threw his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound as Grantaire turned towards him, looking for the cause of the sound. "Bahorel, that's not funny you fucker." He yelled before turning on his heel and making his way through the forest, towards the parking lot on the other side.

Enjolras stayed frozen in place for a few minutes before shakily rising and returning to his friends. They were still trying to get Joly to join them in the pond, but he was stubborn as ever. Combeferre noticed the worried look on his face first, "Enjolras, are you okay?"

He nodded quickly, sitting down next to Joly, "Yeah, I'm fine. My stomach's just a bit upset."

-ooo-   

Grantaire walked slowly through the forest to his car to retrieve a new shirt. He hated Bahorel and Eponine for being so careless, there was a reason why he never actually went swimming, and they knew full well what it was. The scars on his back often raised questions and terrified children, not to mention the few words that had been carved into his skin by a few overly enthusiastic clients. He knew that they would be there until he died, but they seemed disjointed from his own body. Grantaire felt like the scars would always mark him as a low class whore, not to mention the perpetual bruises on his hips and thighs from the hands of strangers.

The constant pain in his ass served as a reminder of how he made a living. There was no way that he could tell anyone about the life he lived. Eponine had figured it out about a month after it started, she always picked up subtle things like his pained walk and the depression that had set in. Bahorel had gotten in a street fight, and spotted Grantaire giving a man a blowjob in an alleyway.

He winced at the memory, shoving it away as he pulled out his car keys. A small boy was standing a few feet away and screamed when he saw Grantaire’s back, tears streaking his face as he ran to his mother who shot the cynic an horrified look. He turned away, slipping into the car silently and pulling on a shirt.

Sighing, he rested his head on the steering wheel of the battered impala, the water from his hair dripping on the floor. He hated being an outcast, he didn't fit in at school, and no one cared about him at home. Even Bahorel and Eponine didn't really understand what it was like to be just another hole for a dick to go in. Just a quick fuck when needed. His ass hurt nonstop from the violent men thrusting their cocks inside him every night, and their bites and slaps stung often for days.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it. If he stopped his dad would kick him out, and he'd be homeless, most likely returning to prostitution to stay alive. He much preferred having a bed to sleeping in an alley.

He ran a hand through his now almost dry hair, tangling them in the dark curls and pulling slightly to distract himself from the woman and the child, who were still watching him. Shakily, he started the car, and drove for about half a block and stopped in a deserted parking lot before popping the cap on a beer. Grantaire took a long drink, his head flopped back against the seat as the familiar buzz filled him up.

He hated the world, and not in an emo _Everything sucks so I'm going to wear black and die my hair weird colors!_ He really just hated the world and humanity in general, the idea of happiness or kindness seemed like a hoax. In school he teachers talked about freedom, the rights of man, liberty, religions of the world all of the were meaningless to him. Freedom was just a social con, and religion was such a stupid concept to him that he couldn't believe that people actually thought there was a god or divine power. He'd never been in a church and had no plans to, nor did he think they had any purpose whatsoever other than to make the streets slightly emptier on Sundays.

Grantaire wasn't sure when he'd opened a second bottle, or a third or a fourth, but now he was clutching a fifth bottle in his hand, staring distantly at the sun beginning to set. He was drunk, he knew that much. But there was no way he was going to drive home like this, unable to keep his vision from blurring together. His vision swam infront of him, a dull warmth spreading over him and welcoming him into sleep.

-ooo-

What seemed like only minutes later a soft rap on the window woke him from his sleep. Jolting him awake Grantaire looked around blearily, spotting the blue eyed and blonde haired boy leaning next to his car, peering inside with concern on his face. "En-ras?" He muttered, rolling down the window while rubbing sleep from his eyes, trying to keep the other boy's face in focus. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing." He answered simply, leaning into the window to get a better look at Grantaire. The smell the cheap booze filled the air between them, making the blonde wrinkle his nose slightly. "Can I?" He gestured to the passenger seat with one hand.

"Oh, sure." Grantaire said unlocking the door as quickly as a very drunk teenager could manage. Enjolras walked to the other side of the car, and sat down on the battered seat that was ripping in numerous places. "Sorry." He gestured to the beer cans and bottles that littered the floor along with fast-food wrappers.

Enjolras shrugged, shutting the door behind him to keep the wind out, "No problem." He paused for a moment, "Why are you here? Like in an abandoned parking lot at 11:30?"

"No good reason." Grantaire managed, looking at his feet, "I got drunk, and I can't drive home." He played with the end of his belt, refusing to meet the blonde's gaze, knowing it would either be accusing or full of pity, neither of which he wanted to see.

"Do you need a lift?"

The blonde's words caught him off guard and he faltered for a moment before replying, "You don't need to. I'll be fine."

"Like hell you will be. This is one of the worst neighborhoods in town, Grantaire." Honestly, the fact that Enjolras knew his name surprised the cynic more than his kindness towards him.

With the small voice of a child who had been caught stealing cookies Grantaire responded softly, "Okay. Thanks Enjolras."

"No problem." He said simply, climbing out of the car and switching seats with Grantaire, flinching when the drunk boy tripped over a pothole and nearly landed in a puddle of some unknown substance. "You okay?" The drunk nodded, buckling his seatbelt as Enjolras pulled out of the lot.

He gave the blonde his address, and laid back in his seat, fighting to stay awake. As they got closer to the other end of town where he lived they passed the bars where Grantaire usually hung out, waiting for a job. The brick walls were nearly covered by prostitutes in varying states of dress as well as varying states of foreplay with strangers.

Enjolras was unfamiliar with this are of town, staring wide-eyed at the people groping and biting on the walls. He cast his eyes down as a woman with long red hair pulled back in a bun and no shirt wolf whistled at him. The traffic on this street was particularly bad, cars stopping seemingly at random as whores climbed into the vehicles or approached the driver.

"Hey Grantaire!" A boy a few years older than them raced over to the car, sticking his head into the passenger window. Grantaire sank back into his seat, trying to hide from the brunette who had approached. "Do you have any-"

"No." The cynic cut him off immediately. "I do not." There was no way he was giving this boy condoms infront of Enjolras, despite the fact that there was entire box in the trunk and another in the glove box. "Go away Anthony." He covered his face with his hands, trying to ward off the intruder.

The boy nodded esthetically, "You're using them then? He's not bad, really sort of-"

"Jesus Fucking Christ Anthony! Get lost!" He cried out, burrowing further into the space between the seat and the car door. There was no way he was going to let Anthony tell Enjolras he was a prostitute. He would rather die than have this god know his secret. 

Anthony surrendered, putting his hands in the air, "Alright, I give!" He smirked, punching Grantaire in the arm before striding off calling, "Have fun you two!"

Enjolras turned bright red, looking at Grantaire for some explanation, "Just drive, please. I'd rather not spend any time more than necessary here." The blonde nodded, not pressing the cynic for details as they drove away from the whore lined street. 

"This is me." Grantaire spoke up as they passed a large brick building with multiple entrances and a few trees infront of the steps leading up to each door. "Thanks for the ride. You can take the car home, I walk to school so I can get it then."

"Yeah, anytime." Enjolras nodded as Grantaire began to get out of the car. "Grantaire." He grabbed the boy’s arm, feeling him tense under his grip. "If something is wrong, you know you can tell me. Right?"

The cynic was silent for a moment before grabbing Enjolras's shoulder lightly, "I know. But really, I'm fine." He gave a false smile as the blonde released him. "Thanks again.  See you in class."

"Sure." Enjolras said softly as he watched Grantaire walk up to his front door and slip inside. Almost immediately he heard raised voices coming from inside. A moment later there was the sound of something breaking. 

Every bone in his body was telling Enjolras to go investigate, and stand up for the cynic, but he knew better. Reluctantly, he started the car and began the drive home, ignoring the ripped feeling in his chest. Grantaire knows what he's doing. He said he's fine.

However, Enjolras couldn't deny that when he was driving back down the road filled with hookers, he noticed one who looked suspiciously like Grantaire getting into a man's car. The only big difference being the mark of an angry hand across his face, and the small trickle of blood coming from a gash on his forehead.

-ooo-

When Enjolras got home his parents were at the other end of the giant house, and didn't notice him coming in. Flopping down at his desk he saw a new e-mail notice pop up. Clicking on it he read the message quickly.

_My Dad is making me have a birthday party in two weeks and since I have no friends I'm inviting everyone in my English class. It's a sleepover. If you want to come, there’s not going to be parental supervision after midnight so you can pretty much do whatever you want. I really don't care. But it would be cool to have someone show up._

_-Cosette Valjean_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries* OMG why do I do this to myself?


End file.
